The DirgeWailer
by PlagueBlackfoot
Summary: At the same time, on the same day, three different lives are just beginning to unfold. Little do these creatures know that one day their paths are destined to meet, and that only bravery, companionship, and loyalty can be used to overcome the tyrant known
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer Redwall and all its concepts was made up by the God who is Brian Jacques...

Prologue

The tall, looming stature of the mountain cast great shadows along the sandy beaches. Waves crashed their white crests out onto the bay, leaving behind scatterings of broken shells. Seaweed sprawled across great jagged rocks, showing the damage the great storm had done. A few planks of driftwood fought against the still violent sea, disappearing out of view into the depths of the endless abyss. The sky was a monstrous black, but the sun was starting to win the battle of the elements, and retook its rightful position in the sky. The stormy tempest was over and the thunderclouds began their long journey back across the ocean. As the sunlight broke through the ebbing darkness, it highlighted a small figure hobbling along the beach. The figure paused, panting hard from his arduous trek. At that brief moment, the sun cast her rays down, illuminating the bedraggled creature. A leveret, sodden and saturated with the briny sea, with many cuts and gashes littering his shivering body. A few bits of seaweed clung to his ragged tunic, sand seemed to be present in every crevice. With his huge, hazel eyes focused on the mountain, he hauled himself along. One of his paws dragged against the bitty sand, making him limp with pain. In his left paw, he still clung to what once used to be a tiller, though now its only remains was the broken shard of wood which he seemed so reluctant to leave. Though cold and hungry, his heart seemed to lighten as every step he took brought him closer to the mountain. He couldn't explain it but he had this instinctive pull of destiny towards it.

After several hours of slow progress, he reached the base of the mountain. Slumping down with exhaustion, he waited. The chilling sea breeze froze his sodden body, but he was too fatigued to walk any further, his mouth so dry he couldn't shout for help. So he just waited, for his aching body could not take any more.

* * *

Further south, another victim of the storm was coming around. Fur sodden with brine and debris, cuts littering the malnourished body, the creature was barely alive. Only the sweet chorus of skylarks cherishing the new day, celebrating the fact that the storm was well and truly over, awoke him from the depths of unconsciousness. One chocolate brown eye opened, blinking as the bright light of the sun shone into it. The second eye quickly followed suit, opening up, taking in the surroundings. The otter cub managed to haul himself upright, hazy gaze tentatively touching the wood around him. How long he had been lying there, he did not know, nor could he work out where he was. Summoning up all the strength left inside him, he managed to haul himself up. With unsteady steps, he began to walk forward. Stopping at an ancient elm, he pulled out a small silver dagger, its intricate hilt encrusted with sapphires and pearls. Stifling a sob, he bore the blade into the bark, slashing deep lacerations into the trunk. With each controlled cut, he whispered a promise under his breath.

"I swear, by the cut of this blade, I shall have my vengeance on you…Lytar… One day..you shall grovel at the name Symba the slayer….I swear it now…."

* * *

On that same morn, oblivious to the destruction and pain caused by the great storm, Redwall Abbey was celebrating. For during the night, there had been a birth! A baby squirrel, barely a few hours old lay in the arms of her doting mother; Arabella. The overcome squirrel looked over to her husband, Ruggor, who too was looking equally proud.

"She's beautiful", he whispered, eyes welling up with the promise of tears, "she looks just like you Arabella."

The female squirrel smiled even fuller, her gaze never faltering on that of her newborn baby. "She has your eyes though, Ruggor, they're the most vivid green I've ever seen a baby have." The squirrel babe, as in response to her mother's words peered upwards, her emerald hued eyes glistening with untold deepness. Her fur was of the richest crimson, apart from the tip of her tail, which was streaked white.

Their conversation was interrupted, however, by a tentative tapping on the door.

"Burr…oi don't meen to interrupt, but oi can net stand et any morr. Can we see t'likkle babee?"

Arabella gave a small laugh. "Of course you can Foremole, come in,"

A quaint looking mole entered, his nose crinkled upwards in greeting. An old mouse and a brawny looking otter quickly followed him. The aged mouse peered closely at the squirrelbabe, his spectacles almost falling off his nose in the process.

"I must say, Arabelle and Ruggor, she really is something special. I shall hold a feast in her honour."

The brawny otter stepped forwards, his rugged face creased with a grin. Slapping Ruggor on the back, Skipper of Otters spoke in his cheery manner.

"Great idea, Abbot, a birth is always a good chance for a feast. Well slap me rudder and tweak my whiskers, but ain't she the prettiest little thing that yer ever did see? What yer goin' to call her Arabelle?

The squirrel shrugged her shoulders, smiling rather sheepishly. Glancing at her husband, who followed the same gesture, she looked back to the others.

"To be honest, we haven't been able to think of a name yet"

"Whoi doin't yer call her Ivoree? Furr she h'as an ivoree colored tip to 'er tail, an' it t'was t'name of yer motha"

Both parents beamed at the suggestion.

"You can always count on mole logic to provide an answer! Ivory…yes, it was my mother's name, I don't know why I didn't think of it before….Ivory Whisper, a pretty name for a pretty squirrel…."

And thus Ivory Whisper was named, her entrance into the world causing much celebration. Little did they know the horrors she would face in seasons to come, the horrors that would befall the entire abbey and all the residents that reside in its mighty walls.


	2. The Great Plague

Disclaimer... As I've said once, and will probably say a thousand times, Redwall is the creation and idea of Brian Jacques... Only the characters and plot is mine...

Chapter one….The Great Plague…

**_Death follows wherever he goes_**

**_Destruction in his wake_**

**_Creatures fall at his gaze_**

**_Bonds and ties do break._**

**_For he is the embracer of the shadows,_**

**_The ruler of the night._**

**_Run my friends for the plague is coming…_**

_**Run…he's coming for your life….**_

* * *

Plague Blackfoot was coming!

The sky was devoid of all cloud, embracing the great ball of light, which flickered and shone with all its majestic beauty. Bright hues of verdant and emerald green covered the woodland; rows of cowslips, bluebells, and foxgloves emitted great vibrancy, dancing in the light spring breeze. The merry music from a happily gurgling stream drifted through the air, a silver sheen reflecting off the cool waters, glistening with beauty. Birds warbled their morning chorus, giving a display of highly intricate air acrobatics, swooping and souring as if affected by the mad march fever. A low droning of dragonflies could be heard, as they flitted back and forth, dashing between water and shrub. It was an idyllic day, a picturesque scene, but Mother Nature's sheer splendour was lost upon Plague Blackfoot.

Plague Blackfoot was coming!

A rat, with fur as black as a moonless midnight, marched confidently through the woods. Behind him, a whole horde of vermin followed, footsteps in time with his, each looking as bloodthirsty as the next. Foxes, weasels, ferrets and stoats made up the bulk of the army, but not a rat could be spied, apart form the leader that himself. Plague abhorred rats, thought of them as insolent, mindless creatures. He did not see fit to have such weak creatures in his horde, only the strongest would do. Behind the rat's bloodshot eyes was a feeling of great calm. After the seasons of marching, from the great Northlands, through blizzards, storms, droughts and more, he still had an army to show for it. True, many had been lost along the way, but so had there been many new recruits. The horde was increasing towards a number of almost five hundred, a horrific sight to witness. In their wake they left a trail of destruction, villages reduced to smouldering embers, rivers running red. Death marched onwards with the vermin, and they were heading for one place only, to the legendary site…Redwall Abbey.

Plague Blackfoot was coming, and the woods trembled at his feet.


End file.
